Crave

by Karen E. Taylor

  He nodded. “Interesting. It appears that Detective Greer did not go along with her totally unaware. Let that be a consolation to you, Deirdre.”

  Claude came back with a bottle of wine and three glasses. “What’s the story on the scotch?”

  I smiled sadly. “Mitch only drinks scotch when he is angry or upset.”

  Claude sat back down. “You don’t think he’ll hurt her, do you, Deirdre? She’s rather a special young lady. Vulnerable. But with such a hard inner core of anger. You could feel it radiating from her. It was almost overwhelming.”

  “She certainly had plenty about which to be angry,” I said, frowning. “Her mother left her for dead.”

  “But how could you know, Deirdre?”

  “Damn it, Claude, I should have known. After I realized what I was, I should have dug her up myself or waited by her grave for some sign of life. The real question is, how could I not know?”

  He looked away from me. “It will probably all work out eventually. The two of you have all the time in the world to make it up.”

  I glared at him. “You are so young, Claude. There are some things in the world that time does not heal.” Victor nodded at this and I continued. “So do not presume to tell me it will all work out.” I tried to keep my words level, but some of the anger I felt gave my voice a sharp edge.

  He glanced back at me and dabbed at his forehead again.

  “For Christ’s sake, Claude, put that damned hanky away,” Victor snapped. “You don’t really need it; it is a pretense. And annoying.”

  He shrugged and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Habits die hard.”

  “You are right, Claude. They do indeed. And sometimes our habits are the only thing that keep us alive.”

  Then I turned my back on both of them, ignoring further attempt at conversation, watching out the window for the rest of the flight. Despite the situation, I loved the feel of flying, never tired of studying the night sky and the clouds billowing below us. Somewhere off in the distance, lightning lit up the sky.

  I had never been to New Orleans. I noticed, as we waited for the limo outside the airport, that it had a sickly sweet smell, like decaying flowers. Claude, however, sniffed it in as if it were the best perfume, reminding me with a pang of how Mitch always reacted when we returned to New York. “Good to be home?” I asked.

  “Always. I miss this place. There’s no other city in the world like it. You know how it is.”

  I thought for a moment and realized that now I had no home. “Not really. Not anymore. So where are we going?”

  “French Quarter.” Victor and Claude said it in unison.

  I laughed. “Are you sure?”

  Victor cleared his throat. “Even if I hadn’t known that is where she lives, we’d be there. It’s the only place to stay. Vivienne made the reservations, Claude?”

  Claude nodded. “But of course.” He managed a little flip of his hand in imitation of his patron. “ ‘Only the best for my friends.’ Although,” he confided as the limo pulled up and we got in, “there really are better places to stay. But this hotel has the benefit of Cadre endorsement and all of the little special touches that go with such an endorsement. Plus, I suspect Vivienne is a part owner.”

  It was a luxurious place. We had three suites on one of the upper floors, each lavishly decorated in rich hues of multicolored brocade and velvet. The windows were covered with steel shutters and curtains, and each room contained a large ornate chest at the foot of the king-size bed. I opened the lid and peered inside. Not for storing clothes or luggage, I discovered. Instead, it was outfitted with padding and pillows and a lock on the inside. I gave a twisted smile.

  “Very nice,” I said to the bellboy as he entered with the bag that Vivienne had packed for me. “All the comforts of home.”

  “We try, Miss Griffin.”

  “I am sure you do,” I said, and gave him a tip.

  “Have a pleasant stay.” He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

  I opened the draperies and shutters and stared out for a while. Mitch was here. I could feel him quite definitely. But I had not come for Mitch. I had come to see my daughter. Or was that just a pretense for exacting the Cat’s revenge? I did not know my own mind anymore, did not recognize my motives. Mitch’s leaving had leveled my life to its foundation, and I was not entirely sure that I could build it back up again. Worse, I was not sure I wanted to.

  And what of the daughter? We might be tied by blood, but no love existed between us. I remembered only the movements of the baby inside my womb; she remembered digging her way up to the surface from the grave to which I’d consigned her. “Love?” I gave a bitter laugh. “I will be lucky if she does not kill me at first sight.”

  “Deirdre?” Claude knocked on my door. “Are you ready? Victor’s anxious to leave as soon as possible.”

  “Be right there,” I called to him as I secured the window covering again.

  It was a short ride to Lily’s house. The neighborhood was rather run-down, but the row homes were charming. They all had the typical balconies with wrought-iron scrollwork, and lush vegetation surrounding them. As we pulled over to the curb, an ambulance pulled out and raced away.

  “That is her house,” Claude said after referring to the piece of paper on which he’d written her address. “I wonder who the ambulance was for.”

  Victor and I both concentrated on the house. “Not Lily,” Victor said. “I feel her still inside.”

  “And it was not Mitch; he is still here as well.”

  We sat for a while staring at the house. “I will go in,” I said, “alone. She is my daughter and he is my husband and it is my place to go.”

  “I can’t argue with that, Deirdre,” Victor said. “It seems to be entirely a family matter. But remember, you are not to hurt her.”

  “And Mitch?”

  Victor laughed, an evil sound in the confines of the car. “Rip him to shreds if you like, my dear. I’ve never liked the son of a bitch. As you well know.”

  I nodded and opened the limo door, quietly closing it behind me. Beneath the smell of the flowers and the vines was the scent of blood. Fresh human blood. The Cat stirred restlessly within me. The front door was unlocked and I went in. The living room was crowded and cluttered, boxes stacked up and clothes thrown everywhere. On a table on the far wall a small altar had been built; in the center stood a statue of a woman in a crown surrounded by candles. I walked over to it and saw that in front of the saint was a drying pool of blood. I touched a finger to it and put it in my mouth. Yes, it was human blood. And relatively fresh.

  Mitch and the girl were in the kitchen. I could hear them, talking. About me. And forgiveness. And dreams.

  I heard her begin to cry, and recognized the desperation in her tears. I heard him comfort her. When I pushed the door open, I saw them. Mitch, shirtless, holding and comforting the girl and whispering to her over and over, “It’s okay, Lily, it’s okay.”

  Such a touching scene, I thought, as the Cat growled within me. So sweet. A red streak of anger flashed across my mind. Lightning flashed outside. “It is not okay, girl, as my dear husband wants to insist.” I felt the Cat rising in response to the rage, and was powerless to stop it. “But we do not want to hurt you.” My voice sounded strange, different, caught between human and animal. The last sentence was more of a growl than words. “Move away from the man.”

  She turned and stared at me for one short second. But I was not concentrating on her. My entire being was centered upon the man who’d betrayed me.

  As quickly as I changed into the Cat, he became the Wolf. And we were locked in a deadly embrace. I clawed at his fur; his teeth ripped flesh from my shoulder. He was stronger, but I was angry. And I would win. We rolled and fought, biting and clawing, our wounds healing almost as quickly as they were inflicted. And then we rolled apart. I crouched, prepared to spring again, tail whipping. He stood, hackles up and teeth bared, growling, guarded.

  Somewhere o
ut in the street the girl, my daughter, was running away in fear. Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain rushed down the sides of the windows. I heard Victor call her name, and turned as a footstep in the doorway caused us both to jump. Claude stood there watching us. Putting his hands on his ponderous hips, he began to laugh. “I see you are at a standstill. What else did you expect? This battle will not do either of you any good. And neither of you can win. Don’t you know that already? Even I know that, and I am, as Vivienne says, such a baby. But fight if you must. Victor has gone after Lily.”

  Chapter 33

  “The gods don’t give gifts, Angelo. They curse.” I sighed and opened the door to Moon’s room.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the sight I saw. Mitch, shirtless now, cradled the young man like a baby. He’d tied his shirt around Greg’s arm like a tourniquet and the bleeding had slowed. But still, the inside of the tank looked like a killing floor. Blood was everywhere.

  Mitch looked up at me as I walked in, his pale skin seeming to reflect the light. His lips moved, but Angelo must’ve turned the microphone off. I threw the switch.

  He gasped, pulling air into his lungs so that he could speak. “Open the goddamned door, will you? He’s still alive. Barely. But the air is running out. And he’s bleeding to death.”

  My hand reached for the handle, then hesitated.

  “Open the door, Lily, for God’s sake. You want him to die?”

  I closed my eyes for a second. I had no choice. I opened the door.

  “Thank you,” Mitch said, walking out of the cage, carrying the man. “Now call an ambulance. He may still live.”

  Not taking my eyes off him, I picked up the phone that used to sit on Moon’s nightstand and did as he ordered.

  “They’ll be here as soon as they can,” I said after I hung up.

  “Good.”

  Mitch moved out to the living room and laid the young man down on the couch. He bent over him, holding his face in his hands, and talked to him softly. Finally, Greg nodded and his eyes closed.

  “Is he dead?” I asked, my voice small and frightened.

  “No. But I made sure he wouldn’t remember how this happened. I told him he’d gotten drunk and shut his hand in a cab door. No voodoo or vampires.” Mitch smiled, exposing his canines. “We don’t need the publicity. Now, where’s the other one?”

  “Angelo?” I looked around. The front door was standing open and the hand on the altar was missing. Thunder rumbled, there was a flash of lightning and the wind picked up in the trees outside. “Gone, I guess. Took his gift from the gods and ran away.”

  “Too bad,” Mitch said. “I wanted to have a little talk with him.”

  “Other than the fiasco with Greg, none of this was his doing, Mitch,” I admitted. “So maybe you should have that talk with me.”

  He nodded. “Good idea,” he started to say, but the sound of the siren outside made him stop.

  The ambulance pulled up, and bustled Greg off to the hospital with minimal questioning, due to Mitch’s persuasiveness. After they’d left, I went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, pouring myself a glass of brandy. Mitch followed me. “I’ll have some of whatever that is. It gets awful dry in that fish bowl.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  “You want to tell me about it? Why you did this?”

  I bolted my drink down and poured another. “What would you say if I told you that it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

  “I’d say that was a smart-ass answer and that it’s not going to cut it.” He reached over and took me by the shoulders, as he had on the plane. I winced—the bruises he’d left before hadn’t healed—and he dropped his hands. “I’d also say that you’re so bloody much like your mother, it’s uncanny.”

  We sat in silence for a while.

  “So,” he said finally, “the dreams I was dreaming were yours.”

  “Yeah, they’re mine.”

  “And that’s why you did it? To hurt her for what she did to you?”

  I shrugged. “When you put it that way, it sounds so petty and trivial.”

  “No, none of it is trivial, Lily. But the damage can be healed.”

  “Can it?”

  “Deirdre will be furious, no doubt about that. But she’ll forgive it once she sees reason.”

  I shook my head. “Reason? If she forgives this, she must be a fucking saint. So far as she knows, you left her with nothing. I had it all moved out after we left. I even had them take down the curtains. Sends a nice message to the one you love, doesn’t it? ‘I’ve cleared out, honey, without notice. And I’ve taken your nice safe home and turned it into a death trap.’ She heard the dreams, you know. She thinks you want her dead. Because I did.”

  “And now?”

  I bolted back the brandy. “For all I know, she might be dead. Victor said that might be a possibility. That she’d just wait for the sun one morning and that would be that.”

  Mitch stood silent for a minute. “No, she’s not dead. I’d feel it if she were.”

  “I’m glad, I guess. If only for you. You’re not what I expected. But then none of this is what I expected. I want to die.”

  Mitch reached over and ruffled my hair. “You’re just a kid, Lily. I don’t care when you were born. You’re still just a girl. Life is always different than what you expect. You’ll do okay.”

  Suddenly, and without warning, I started to cry. The tears I hadn’t shed for Moon and Hyde and all the other caretakers in my life roiled up and fell down my cheeks. A lifetime’s worth. Or more. It felt good to let them go.

  “Lily?” Mitch got up from his seat and came around behind me. “It’s okay,” he said, patting my shoulder, “it’s okay.”

  I stood up and turned around to face him, still crying. I couldn’t seem to stop. He put his arms around me and pulled me close to him, patting my back lightly. “It’s okay.”

  Then I felt him tense up. And heard a slight intake of breath behind me.

  “It is not okay, girl, as my dear husband wants to insist. But we do not want to hurt you.” In mid-sentence her voice changed, sounding less human and more animalistic. “Move away from the man.” I turned to face the speaker.

  In the split second it took me to recognize the face, the woman was gone. In her place was the huge, snarling wildcat, terrifying in the enclosed space. Slowly, I backed away from Mitch as he transformed into the large silver wolf.

  The cat gathered strength in her hind legs. I saw the tensing of her muscles, felt the burst of air from the twitch of her tail. She sprang upon the wolf, claws extended. His blood spurted out, covering the kitchen floor and splattering the walls.

  And I bolted and ran, out of the house and onto the streets.

  I continued to run, crying, heedless of where I was or where I was going. Barely noticing the rain and the storm that rose up around me. It only mattered to get away from what I had seen. I ran until I could no longer hear the inhuman screams and growls. Ran until I could no longer smell the scent of blood. She was killing him. I’d felt the rage of the cat and knew there was no way to stop it. So Mitch was wrong; it would never be okay. And I would be next.

  I ran for my life.

  Even so, after about eight blocks I felt my feet slow. Gasping for air and still crying, I stopped on a corner to catch my breath. I coughed, choked, shivered. I was drenched, sopping wet from head to toe. And the smell of blood lingered in my nose, so thick and strong it was nauseating.

  I dropped down to my knees and vomited on the street. The sour taste of brandy and tea washed up over me. People passing by would assume I was drunk and would hurry away. And if they stopped to help, what could they possibly do?

  But there were no people. The street was deserted. I vomited again. Like the tears, there seemed to be an unending supply. Weak and shaking, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

  I heard a deep chuckle behind me. Heard the click of a switchblade being opened. “Lookie here. It’s my little hellcat again.
I was hoping we’d see each other. Seems to me I got a score to settle.”

  I swiveled around on my knees and looked up at him, recognizing him. Overcoming another wave of nausea, I pushed up on my hands and forced the words out. “Leave me alone,” I said between clenched teeth. “Go away. I killed your friends. I’ll kill you too.” And as if to punctuate my words, I vomited all over his shoes.

  He jumped away. “Fuck, these are new shoes, bitch.” Then he kicked me over onto my back. “But shit, I can get more. And you ain’t going to be killing anyone no more. Right now I’d say you too sick to even fight, girlie. But I’m not taking any chances this time.”

  He grabbed at my shirt, catching instead the red necklace. It broke, scattering its crystalline drops over the sidewalk. They shimmered in the falling rain.

  I turned my head to watch their flow. And his blade came down. I saw it flash in the rain out of the corner of my eye. Felt it enter my chest. Felt the burning pain as my blood spilled on the pavement, blending with the fallen beads until everything was blanketed in a pool of red.

  And then the pain stopped, held in suspension above me along with the tears and the sorrow. The air grew sweeter as the odor of death dissipated. Had it been my death I had always scented?

  I realized it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not the fact that I could feel my life flowing away, or even the fact that the shattered body of my assailant hit the sidewalk next to me. None of it was important now. I was free of the past and of the restraints of my flesh.

  A dark shape hovered over me, stroked my face and whispered words I couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter. I knew him, knew this angel, knew his name and his touch. “Victor.”

  I let him wrap my lifeless limbs in black velvet wings, let him carry me off to death. I smiled. And my eyes closed.

  Chapter 34

  Claude stood there watching us. Putting his hands on his ponderous hips, he began to laugh. “I see you are at a standstill. What else did you expect? This battle will not do either of you any good. And neither of you can win. Don’t you know that already? Even I know that, and I am, as Vivienne says, such a baby. But fight if you must. Victor has gone after Lily.”